


Cry Me a River

by therunawaypen



Series: Sherlock Tumblr Prompt Fills [31]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Series Three, Songfic, not dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 18:24:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therunawaypen/pseuds/therunawaypen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock comes back to John after being dead, John is less than happy. Because he spent his time crying over Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cry Me a River

**Author's Note:**

> Could you do a Johnlock fic centering on the new trailer and the song Cry Me A River by Ella Fitzgerald? —anon

_Now you say you're lonely_

_You cried the long night through_

_Well, you can cry me a river, cry me a river_

_I cried a river over you_

The restaurant buzzed around them as they stood, simply staring at each other. For John, each breath was a struggle: a struggle to remember to breathe, a struggle to not let loose a scream, or worse yet, a sob.

There he was. Like nothing had happened. Like John _hadn’t_ watched his horrific death. Like John _hadn’t_ buried him, hadn’t mourned him. He was simply watching him.

_Now you say you're sorry_

_For being so untrue_

_Well, you can cry me a river, cry me a river_

_I cried, cried, cried a river over you_

John must have forgotten, in the years that Sherlock had been _dead_ , just how infuriating he could be with the things he said.

As if his sudden arrival back into John’s life, interrupting his night with Mary, was a simple miscalculation in timing.

His timing was off by years.

_You drove me, nearly drove me, out of my head_

_While you never shed a tear_

_Remember, I remember, all that you said_

_You told me love was too plebeian_

_Told me you were through with me_

It wasn’t fair for Sherlock to come back now, not when John had been so close to moving on. He had found love in Mary; she had understood the pain he felt with Sherlock, she hadn’t tried to “fix” him. He had been so ready to be happy with her.

But now Sherlock was back, tearing opening the wound in John’s heart with no more than a simple “Not Dead.”

It wasn’t fair. Sherlock would never let him love anyone else, would he?

_Now you say, you say you love me_

_Well, just to prove that you do_

_Come on and cry me a river, cry me a river_

_'Cause I cried a river over you_

And now he’s talking about terrorists, and cases. _As if nothing has happened_.

Like John would simply drop everything and go running after Sherlock again.

And everything in John _desperately_ wanted to. To have things go back to the way they were before.

But he knew they couldn’t. Things had changed, no matter how much John…or Sherlock might have wished.

_If my pillow could talk, imagine what it would have said_

_Could it be a river of tears I cried in bed?_

_So you can cry me a river_

_Daddy, go ahead and cry that river_

_'Cause I cried, how I cried a river over you_

_How I cried a river over you_

After that night, John began to have the dreams again. Not the nightmares of Afghanistan, of combat and of death.

No, he dreamed of the streets of London, of running in the dark of night with the thrill of the chase singing in his blood.

He dreamed of Sherlock by his side as they ran, coat collar turned up. In the dream, their eyes met.

“ _Take my hand.”_ Sherlock told him.

And John did.


End file.
